World Cup romantics, digest this: there will be no repeats of Diego Maradona’s genius of 1986 or Pele’s brilliance of 1958 in Russia this summer. Or, for that matter, even in Qatar four years from now or in the Americas four years after that. Football doesn’t work that way.

Lionel Messi will not be able to carry his Argentina team — full of has-beens and over-the-hill journeymen — to the World Cup title. It took a sensational eleventh-hour hat-trick from him to get this bunch to Russia in the first place. But that hasn’t stopped anyone from building the Argies up. And it will not stop anyone from crucifying the team in a few weeks from now, when their hopes get dashed.

Cristiano Ronaldo will not be able to propel a weak Portugal beyond the quarter-final, even if his team is the current European champions. Yet, Ronaldo’s face will continue to be put right next to the Jules Rimet trophy in images and the Portuguese dream will be discussed to death.

Then there is the latest golden boy of football, Mohamed Salah. He is Egypt’s saviour, leading thePharaohs to their first World Cup appearance since 1990.

His ambition should be limited to taking Egypt beyond the matches in the weak group Egypt is slotted in. However, all eyes will be on Salah, in the hope that he might take Egypt further on his own. We have created these larger-than-life personalities on the pitch and they tend to obscure our sense of realism. Why do we expect a miracle and end up being upset in the absence of one? Is a miracle not supposed to be an outside bet anyway? This may explain why Sussex University researchers claimed to have found that being a football fan is a “negative experience” and an “irrational” choice.

Neymar is the most realistic bet for a global superstar being able to take his team to win the World Cup this summer. But, unlike four years ago, when Brazil was too heavily dependent on the striker this time it has much to do with Neymar’s talent as it has to do with the squad being frighteningly good and well balanced. They are the bookies’ favourite to lift the trophy this time. One-man miracles don’t really happen at the World Cup, and certainly not when you expect them to.

A 17-year-old Pele was an unknown entity to the world before his heroics of 1958. Even Maradona, who did not play for his country for three years before 1986, had only shown signs of greatness between bouts of poor temperament before rising to incredible heights in Mexico. Neither of the two had to live with the burden of the past. Today, there are expectations that Messi will be able to replicate Maradona’s feats.

Systems, though, will always trump individuals. You do not win a World Cup because you have the world’s best player in your squad. Sure, it does increase your chances. You win the Cup because you have the best team. How good was Pele s Brazil of 1958? It had laid the foundations of a team that retained its title in 1962, despite Pele missing most of that tournament because of an injury. A little-known fact about the 1958 World Cup is that Brazilian midfielder Didi was awarded the Player of the Tournament, and not Pele.

Maradona’s teammates from 1986 were no mugs either, though certainly not as accomplished as the Brazilian team of 1958. El Diego’s genius alone did not elevate the team to dizzying heights. Alongside him were the likes of Jorge Valdano, who was voted Spanish League’s best foreign player in the season before the World Cup, and midfielder Jorge Burruchaga, the key midfielder who played the perfectsidekick to Maradona.

The tales of 1958 and 1986 have been passed down like gospel through generations from an era when footballers were not all-pervading. With every recital, the legend only gets stronger and more mythical. Today, the stories are accompanied by video evidence, too — though YouTube footage can make even Johnny English look like James Bond. We lap it up because it fits our idea of football: a game about heroes and escapism. We live vicariously through the players we idolise and want them to live up to the simple job description of all heroes — do things out of the ordinary all the time.

Not since Maradona 32 years ago, though, has a player inspired his nation to have high hopes of winning the World Cup, defying the odds as single handedly as he did.

Recent years have shown that dealing with the weight of expectations is better when it is distributed evenly over the entire team.

In 2014, the well-rounded Germans pipped Messi-led Argentina to the trophy, the same way the Italians proved too good for a virtuoso Zinedine Zidaneled France in 2006. In 2010, the wonderful Spanish team that lifted the nation’s maiden World Cup had neither the best young player from the tournament (Thomas Muller) nor its best player (Diego Forlan).

The Brazilian teams from 1994 to 2002 were in a league of their own. It was full of skilful players, including Romario and Ronaldo, the forwards who were the lynchpins of that era. Even this Brazil was upset in 1998 by a French team which epitomised unity and togetherness. Today, we need a hero or a scapegoat. Someone has to take the fall. The team cannot. In an increasingly personalised world, we are fed the information we want to read, not the evidence we should read.

Which takes us back to the beginning: one-man miracles don’t happen in the World Cup. Why are you still hoping for one?